


The Sound of Wings

by ladyofrosefire



Category: The 100 (TV), The Sandman (Comics)
Genre: Crossover, Everyone could benefit from talking to Death tbh, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-25 12:59:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7533676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyofrosefire/pseuds/ladyofrosefire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke has a conversation with Death of the Endless. Set before the end of the third season.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sound of Wings

One night, when Clarke is making her way back to her cabin, she finds a young woman standing in the shadows between two buildings. She has long hair, dark as anything Clarke has ever seen, grey eyes, and skin the color of fresh snow. A line and a spiral extends from the outside corner of her right eye. She wears all black, her clothes a mix of Trikru and Skaikru styles. As Clarke approaches, she pushes herself off of the wall on which she leans. Somehow, she knows, without the woman saying anything, who she is.

“Hello, Clarke.” Death greets her, and smiles warmly. 

Clarke crosses her arms tightly over her chest and stops walking. “What do you want?”

Death seems unperturbed by her brusque response. She shrugs a shoulder and steps a little closer, heavy boots making no sound. “I thought we could talk.”

They look at each other in silence for a few moments before Clarke relents. She resumes walking, and does not protest with Death falls into step with her. 

“What did you want to talk about?”

“I showed up because you called me. More or less.” She replies. Her voice is soft, soothing, rather than patronizing. “Most people who call me want to go with me, though. You don’t.”

“Anymore.” Clarke adds unnecessarily. She does not deserve to die when death means escaping her guilt over what she has done. Someone must answer for those atrocities. 

Death’s shoulders shift as she sighs, and Clarke thinks she hears the rustling of feathers. “Have you thought about what would happen if you hadn’t done it?” She asks, although she obviously already knows the answer. Clarke had thought about it endlessly, in the first month, give or take. The Mountain Men would have killed many of their people, and then they would have moved out into the open. They would have colonized and spread and killed. And, because they had lost their ability to handle radiation, they would need a way for the next couple generations at least to live in the open. Thousands would have died.

“That doesn’t change anything.” Clarke mutters, staring down at the ground beneath her feet.

“Of course not. You can’t undo anything. Even I can’t.” Death replies. “But maybe you can see…” She trails off, and Clarke wonders if she had been considering saying it was for the best. “But you don’t care about math. That’s good. It’s good to feel.”

“But it _hurts_.” 

It sounds childish, even in her head, but Death only nods. “It hurts now. And it will hurt for a long time. But eventually, it won’t hurt so much. And then, someday, you’re going to wake up, and you might not even notice it.”

“Things like this– they don’t just… go away!” Clarke protests.

“No. But you learn to live with them.” She offers Clarke a small, hopeful smile. “It’ll turn out peachy. Just give it time.”

Clarke nods, and then Death turns to go. 

“Wait!”

Immediately, she stops walking and turns to face her. One black eyebrow arches, and her head tilts a few degrees to one side. It takes Clarke another few moments to find her voice. 

“Is what they call me… true?” She asks, so quietly that she thinks for a moment that Death did not hear her. She should have known better.

“Not at all.” Death replies. “It just doesn’t work that way. You remember that, alright? Whatever they tell you, you are human.” Then she smiles, bright and conspiratorial, and shifts on her feet. “I’ve got a job to do, but… Want to see something?”

Clarke nods, her brow furrowing in curiosity. 

Death’s shoulders shift, and a pair of massive, ink-dark wings unfurl, filling the alley in which they stand. They beat once, and she is gone. 

The tiniest of smiles curves Clarke’s lips


End file.
